<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>mnemonics by glassedplanets</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24446884">mnemonics</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/glassedplanets/pseuds/glassedplanets'>glassedplanets</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Destiny (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Mostly Melancholy; Slightly Sweet, Obviously Yet Obliviously Into Each Other, The Black Garden (Destiny)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:02:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,693</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24446884</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/glassedplanets/pseuds/glassedplanets</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of miscellaneous Uldren/Jolyon fills, fragments, etc. Tags apply in general.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Uldren Sov/Jolyon Till the Rachis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. pillow fort</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The rain falls and rises and flows eastwest northsouth, and Jolyon feels each drop roll off the soft thick foliage and onto his skin, under his neckline, tracing veins that run down his wrist and under his glove. He shrinks away from the electric heat. Uldren tips his face up and lets it course over him.</p><p>“It’s cold,” Uldren murmurs, even as thick, steaming mist rises from the sweet fetid flora that carpets the ground. Jolyon wants to wrap it around his shoulders, pull it up over them both. Wants to hide from this great living beast that breathes against them.</p><p>“So come here,” he says, and Uldren’s eyes glimmer in the soft light that shines from everywhere and nowhere.</p><p>Time slips through his fingers like sand or water here. All he knows is they’ve been resting long enough for the blood to start running torpid through their veins. The Garden welcomes their rest, folds them in like the softest bed, small flowers blooming against them that whisper like silk.</p><p>He doesn’t know whether Uldren crawls up against him immediately or in fifty years or three centuries ago, but he’s warm, warmer than he’s got any right to be, and Jolyon doesn’t miss his cloak anymore. The worn waxed canvas hangs above them as the Garden grows soft cushions around them, grows blankets of knitted leaves and flowers that spell poems in languages he can’t read, and Uldren’s corpse-cold hand brushes drops of scalding rain off of his cheek.</p><p>Everything grows here, Jolyon thinks, and looks down at the Prince pressed close against his chest, heart pounding painfully against ribs too small to contain it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i've said it before and i'll say it again: non-literal interpretations only in this house</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. game</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Jolyon,” the Master of Crows purrs in a tone that Jolyon quickly learned means <em>danger</em>, “bet you I can catch the cartridge.”</p>
<p>The Supremacy booms. Across the frigid slush fields of Ceres, a lone Vandal scout stumbles and falls, lost to an environment not even the Great Machine was able to fully tame. The cartridge sails through the pitifully thin air, and the dark leather of Uldren’s glove blurs as he moves. He doesn’t open his hand. </p>
<p>Jolyon sighs and props himself up on one elbow. Uldren’s eyes are bright above the scarf he’s wrapped around the lower half of his face, covering the glint of his respirator. </p>
<p>“What kind of a bet is that? It hardly moves at light speed.”</p>
<p>He dislodges the Supremacy from its perch and reattaches the sling. They’ll need to move to hit the next patrol in time. Uldren is still watching him.</p>
<p>“It’s the principle of the thing, my good man. Loser owes the winner.”</p>
<p>“And I suppose that, by nature, I’m the loser.” Jolyon plucks the cartridge out from between Uldren’s fingers. It’s still warm. He pockets it, then pulls his cloak snug. “Come on. We’re moving.” Uldren finally deigns to stand along with him, and the wind blows a shock of dark hair messily across his face. Jolyon thinks it looks much nicer disheveled like this. Maybe it’s this particular brand of thinking that prompts him to ask, “So what exactly does the loser owe, then?”</p>
<p>“Oh, I don’t know,” Uldren replies, and his eyes say <em>I know exactly</em>. His boots strike out on frozen ground, unerring in their path, and Jolyon follows as he forges on towards their next waypoint. Uldren tosses a look over his shoulder, and the slightest crinkle to his eyes belies the smile that’s undoubtedly playing across his lips. “Maybe a kiss.”</p>
<p>Jolyon’s foot slides straight into a pothole filled with sub-zero brine.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. fingertips</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jolyon is awake the second Uldren slips back into their room. Uldren makes next to no noise as he strips off his cloak and boots and changes out of the rest of his armor, cutting a sharp silhouette against the dim, distant starlight that filters into the room. His skin is cool when he slides under the covers and Jolyon commits it all to memory: his hands, unerringly seeking out Jolyon’s waist; his lips, ghosting a kiss over the nape of Jolyon’s neck, sending a warm burst of sparks over his skin.</p>
<p>“Well?” Jolyon asks.</p>
<p>“Ship’s ready,” Uldren replies, and presses another, more substantial kiss to the curve of his neck. “Weather on Mars looks clear so far, minus the Cabal thunderstorm in orbit.”</p>
<p>“Bring an umbrella, then,” Jolyon mutters, and Uldren gently digs fingers between his ribs, just hard enough to tickle and make him squirm. “<em>Uldren</em>–” </p>
<p>He wrenches himself out of Uldren’s grip and onto his back, and Uldren just moves around him, bracing himself up on one forearm. In the dim light his eyes shine like galaxies, corners creased by the smile on his face.</p>
<p>“You’re insufferable,” Jolyon sighs, and gently cups his Prince’s cheek in one hand. Uldren lowers his eyes and presses a kiss to his palm.</p>
<p>“And I don’t thank you enough for putting up with me,” Uldren murmurs back.</p>
<p>He folds his hand over Jolyon’s, filling the space between his fingers with his own, and he shifts his cheek under Jolyon’s palm so that he can kiss each fingertip, slow and light. Jolyon’s eyes are closed by the third kiss. </p>
<p>“The Black Garden better be worth it,” Jolyon says, just to be contrary. </p>
<p>Uldren finally leans down to kiss him proper, deep and slow and sweet, and in the dark Jolyon runs his hands over the familiar lines of his face, his neck, his shoulders, his back, reveling in the comfortable press of their bodies, the shape of the one thing in this universe he holds dearest.</p>
<p>“It will be,” Uldren replies, “because you’ll be with me.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. silent</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jolyon's fingertips graze the inside of his wrist. The touch is startlingly intimate, and Uldren looks at him in surprise before the touch turns into something more familiar.</p>
<p><em>time-query-amount</em>, Jolyon taps in code. <em>How long?</em></p>
<p>Uldren reaches over with his other hand and replies against the last knuckle of Jolyon's trigger finger, left bare by his glove. He's watched that finger squeeze the trigger so many times. They’ve never touched like this before.</p>
<p><em>1.3-sidereal-Iris,</em> he replies. One hour, twenty minutes since the last transmission.</p>
<p>He’s lost track of how long they’ve been here, huddled together in a tiny crack in the ground. Their combined body heat isn't enough to set off any sensors the Fallen might have, but they're draped in baffling cloaks anyways, shoulders pressed comfortably together to ward off the chill. Their tiny sensor array has been dutifully capturing encrypted transmissions sent between Wolfships, storing them until Iris falls – or is held – or something gives – and he and Jolyon can crawl back to the surface and let the Crows feast on more data. They don’t need much more to break the encryption.</p>
<p>Jolyon is looking down at their hands, Uldren still with one arm crossed over his stomach, and something about his gaze burns. Unlike the princely and composed image he presents so often, Uldren feels his mouth go dry, his pulse beating odd and hollow, everything in his veins awry.</p>
<p>This train of thought is pointless. Jolyon’s only here out of obligation. Clearly. Wind howls across the cave mouth, setting off an ear-splitting shriek as it blows at just the right angle to sound some discordant note. Neither he nor Jolyon flinch, not exactly, but Uldren finds himself pressed closer and not by his doing. He nearly opens his mouth to say something, play it off as he usually does, but the press of duty stills the air in his lungs.</p>
<p>Jolyon is watching him carefully. Uldren wonders what he sees when they’re alone like this. Whether he sees a prince, or Mara's brother, or the Master of Crows, or something else entirely. He’s never been less sure of the answer than now, with Jolyon looking at him like this. Close. Wind and rock howling around them.</p>
<p><em>query-open,</em> Uldren taps. Unsure. Not wanting to overstep. Not wanting to miss anything.</p>
<p><em>you</em>, Jolyon replies. It's not a real <em>you</em>. Just a placeholder pronominal form, waiting to be applied to something. The next morpheme left open. Jolyon's eyes lower, just slightly, and he finishes, <em>query-polar</em>.</p>
<p><em>repeat-clarify</em>, Uldren says. Bites his lip in a fit of nerves. Jolyon meets his eyes briefly, then lowers them again. Adrenaline floods Uldren’s chest, drowning him.</p>
<p><em>query-polar</em>, Jolyon repeats, with no further clarification. They’re practically sharing air now. The query is clear.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Uldren breathes, and he feels the air beat back warm against his own lips, and he feels Jolyon’s fingers slide against his wrist, and he feels decisive pressure against his lips like the pull of a trigger, and he feels invincible.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. enthralled</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You’re distracted,” Jolyon says, apropos of absolutely nothing.</p>
<p>Uldren jumps like he’s touched an Arc charge and goes back to his binoculars so fast, he might end up with a bruise on his nose for it.</p>
<p>“I wasn’t,” he says, much more coolly than he feels.</p>
<p>Jolyon snorts quietly.</p>
<p>“Wind’s picked up, but you didn’t say anything.” Uldren scrambles silently for a response, and as Jolyon finally rolls away from his scope to shoot an amused look his way, the search triples in difficulty. “Seriously. Are you good?”</p>
<p>“I’m fine,” Uldren replies, and it comes out brusquely enough that a furrow forms between Jolyon’s brows. “I’m fine, Jol. It’s nothing.”</p>
<p>Jolyon briefly rolls his eyes before settling back down against the scope of his rifle, but Uldren catches the faint smile that tugs at the corner of his lips and all of his resolve crumbles to pieces as he’s thrown right back to square one: the way the midday light of the Reef manages to filter into this cave and spill over his brow, the faint wrinkle of his nose as he squints through his scope, the precise curl of his hand around the grip. It’s less distraction, more that he can’t bear to look away. Jolyon is handsome, sure; every citizen of the Reef knows it. But like this, with his focus sharpened, with his body curled close to his rifle, the silent potential of deadly precision, he is something else entirely.</p>
<p>“Wind north-northeast,” Uldren finally manages, glancing at his sensors. “Target still not in sight.”</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>